


Thrown to Wolves

by orphan_account



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Feral Behavior, Forced Bonding, Kidnapping, M/M, Sentinel Senses, Sentinel/Guide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2779157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair has never heard of Sentinels, but he's about to become a Guide - whether he likes it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thrown to Wolves

Blair is seized from behind, his instinctive cry muffled by a hand clamped tightly over his mouth. He grunts, tongue mashed against his captor’s hand, no doubt leaving a wet smear against his palm.

He tries to fight, twisting in their grasp, but fails, his knees kicked out from under him, forced down to the earth.

It’s easy from there. Strong hands on his shoulders, and fisted in his hair, shove his face into the grass. He groans and gets a mouthful of dirt.

“Careful with him,” one of them says. “He’s valuable.”

_What the hell does that mean?_

His wrists are twisted together behind his back, bound there with something painful and tight.

“Easy, easy,” someone murmurs, close to his ear.

Something – a belt? – is looped around his thrashing ankles and cinched taut. He’s well and truly trussed now. He’s held still, breathing earth, while they pat him down, brisk over his shoulders, lingering over his hips and buttocks.

“Doesn’t look like much,” someone says. Blair’s lost count of how many there are, but it’s at least three.

“Well now, looks can be deceiving.” Someone slides a hand underneath him, between his legs. They squeeze gently, sizing him up. He hitches away and they let him go.

He’s pulled up just high enough for them to tie a dirty rag ever his eyes, tight enough that it presses on his closed eyelids.

“ _Please_ ,” he groans, spitting out dirt.

“Hush,” says someone. There’s no other warning before a thick wad of fabric is shoved into his mouth. Blair whimpers, choking on whatever they’ve forced between his teeth. He hears the wet sound of tape being pulled off the roll, then a fat strip of it is sealed over his lips, silencing him completely.

“Alright, let me take a look,” says the man who seems to be in charge. A calloused hand lifts his chin, brushing his hair out of his face. "Ooh yeah, he’s got the gift alright.”

Blair manages a muffled grunt, the only sound he’s capable of now, squirming uselessly against his restraints. Nobody pays him any attention.

He doesn’t know what any of this means. He's just an Anthropology student at Rainier. He was on a camping trip, walking for gas after his car broke down. Why would anyone want him?

“The Colonel is paying for this one, right?” They’re checking the bonds on his hands and feet, tugging and tightening.

“That’s what I heard.”

“Alright then.” Blair is hauled to his feet and someone's shoulder jams into his belly. He's upended, hanging like a sack of flour as the blood rushes to his head. He can't even kick. He goes limp.

“Get him in the truck. Let's get the hell out of here.”

 

\---

 

Blair doesn’t know how long he’s been chained in the dark. They stripped him down to just his boxers, cuffing his hands above his head. Then they left him like that, alone.

He thinks it's been days. Maybe a week. He doesn’t know how long someone can survive without water, but he figures he doesn’t have much longer.

He’s shivering in the chill of the damp air.

_Why are they doing this? Are they going to kill him? Is he ever going to see daylight again?_

He’d worked off the blindfold first, rubbing his face against his shoulder. It didn’t help much: the room is pitch black.

He can't get the tape off of his mouth, despite his best efforts. He’d tried to scream in the beginning anyway, but quickly gave up on that. His mouth is dry around the rag.

There are spots in front of his eyes, and he knows they’re coming from the inside of his own head, because there’s no other source of light.

He’s afraid he’s passing in and out of consciousness.

Sometimes he thinks he sees a white dog, its eye piercing blue. Sometimes he thinks it’s a giant cat. It stalks the corners of the room with teeth bared. The walls are turning into jungle vines.

He’s delirious, he realizes. The hunger, the thirst, the dark and the cold are getting to him, not to mention the unrelenting fear.

He dreams that the animals sleep curled around him, keeping him warm and safe.

He tells himself someone is coming for him, any second now. They’re probably right outside the door. Any second now ...

 

\---

 

He’s awakened from a kind of daze by the sound of the door opening.

His head is pounding.

A blinding light, the first he has seen in days, flares from the corner of the room. A flashlight or lantern. It’s excruciating to his unaccustomed eyes, and Blair turns his face away, groaning behind his gag.

Even behind his closed eyelids, he’s aware of the beam swinging around the room and picking him out.

“That’s the one,” says a man’s voice. It’s familiar; Blair recognized the man who had abducted him _._

"He's smaller than I pictured." The accent is crisp, sounds vaguely military; Blair has an impression of a man in a uniform. “Well, let me take a look at him.”

Naked and helpless, blinded by the lamp as it approaches, Blair sags in his chains. He’s too weak even to cringe away; if they’re going to kill him, he just hopes they’ll be quick about it.

"He was detected by one of our remote sensors as a Level Four," says his captor proudly.

A hand skims over his bare ribs. It feels like someone is touching his skeleton itself. “Christ, he’s practically wasted away. What use is he to me like this?”

“Aw, you should be thanking me. I took the fight out of him for you. He’s all primed for it – won’t even resist, now.”

“It doesn’t help me if I introduce them and he doesn’t make it.”

_What the hell does that mean?_

The hand lifts his face up, into the light. His burning eyes are still too bleary to focus. A rough thumb strokes over his cheek.

“He is handsome, in his own way, I suppose. You mind if I take a look at his mouth?”

"Hey, be my guest."

The tape is peeled off at last, not as gently as Blair could wish. He’s too weak to spit out the fabric shoved between his teeth, and nobody removes it for him. Instead his cheeks are pinched together between someone’s finger and thumb. Blair grunts weakly, squinting in the beam of the flashlight, unable to protest as they tug down his lip to check his gums.

“Huh. He’s in pretty good shape, considering.” A finger probes in his mouth, sliding over his dry tongue, and then withdraws. "Good teeth, too."

Blair gurgles, pushing feebly at the material still wadded in his mouth.

“Let’s leave that in for now,” says his new captor, replacing the tape and patting his cheek. “Keep you nice and quiet, hmm?"

A muffled groan is the most he can manage.

“So you admit he’s worth the sum?” it’s the voice of his original abductor.

"Hey, don't rush me. This is for my best guy ... I gotta check him out thoroughly.”

Blair's boxers, all he’s left in, are pulled off his hips and down his legs. He struggles feebly against his chains but it's hopeless.

"Cute little dick," says someone. "Help me turn him."

He’s spun around, his boxers still tangled around his thighs, chains rattling and pulling. Blair moans helplessly as they push his thighs apart, sliding a leg between his knees to hold them open.

“Now, don’t fight me, boy.”

Fingers delicately part Blair’ buttocks. He feels the heat of the flashlight beam between his cheeks and whimpers frantically.

Something – the tip of a finger? – taps against his clenched asshole. Blair tenses against the intrusion, but he can't stop it from nudging into his tight, dry channel. "That’s it, just like that,” murmurs the stranger, letting him squirm at the shallow penetration. Blair is trying to talk through his gag, trying to argue, but nothing is coming out except strangled animal sounds.

"Alright, enough." The hand is slapped away. "You want the whole thing, you pay up front."

Blair hangs by his wrists, panting through his nose as the room spins wildly.

"So what's the verdict, Colonel?"

"Look healthy enough,” the stranger admits. “Takes it nicely, too."

“So you're buying?"

Blair’s boxers are tugged back up. "Yeah, I’ll take him. He's a sweet little thing ... Ellison’s just going to eat him up."

The chains are loosened. Blair moans in relief, but he’s forced up against a wall before he can react, his hands bound behind his back again, with soft fabric this time.

“Time to get out of here," says the stranger, pulling a bag over Blair's head and cinching it tight. It clings claustrophobically to his face, but at least it's dark again.

"I want full payment for this one."

"You'll get it. The money will be transferred to your account by oh-four-hundred."

Blinded and disoriented, Blair is hustled up a flight of stairs. As he's dragged out, he hears his new captor call back to the other man:

"And hey - keep your eyes open for another one, okay? If this one dies, I'll expect my money back.”

 

\---

 

Blair doesn’t remember much of the journey.

Arms under his knees, his shoulders, lifting him up. Being laid face-down on a bench seat that smelled of leather. He's freezing cold in just his boxers. The bag over his head keeps him docile. Everything hurts.

The sensation of movement.

It feels like they drive for a long time, but Blair has lost the ability to accurately judge. He thinks he's sliding in and out of consciousness again.

He imagines the white dog is sitting attentively in the foot-well, its eyes glowing electric blue.

“How’s he doing back there?” asks the stranger.

“Still breathing,” someone replies.

When the car finally stops, he's hauled out by his ankles. He yelps feebly, and is ignored. Someone gets an around his waist. "Settle down," says the stranger mildly.

He's half-carried, half-dragged as his knees give out. He wants to beg, but it's as much as he can manage to stay conscious.

Cold water hits him out of nowhere. He protests helplessly from behind his gag, but he's thoroughly hosed down; his hair, his armpits, his back. The waistband of his boxers are pulled away from his body so they can aim the water down there. Then he's made to stand under some kind of air vent, which buffets him with a lukewarm blast.

Finally he's pulled along again, still dripping.

The lurch of an elevator.

"Almost there now," says someone.

A short walk, then a hand on the back of his neck pulls him to a stop.

"I'm going to take the bag off your head now," says the stranger. "Close your eyes."

Blair complies, sucking in grateful breaths of fresher air through his nose when the sack is removed. The light makes his eyes water.

They're in a long, sterile hallway, standing in front of a white security door. His captors are both bored-looking men in military uniform. One of them waves a swipe card over a keypad in the door frame. The light turns green.

"Alright, get a good hold of him," one says, pulling open the door. Blair is grabbed by his bound wrists and shoved forward, grunting, through the doorway.

"Sentinel Ellison - rise and shine! Got a little present for you."

The room inside is dimly lit. Blair blinks around, uncomprehending. In the center, sitting in a high-backed chair, is the figure of man; big, well-built, with close-cropped hair. He's slumped forward in the chair, head hanging down, seemingly asleep.

Blair’s captor puts a hand on Blair’s back and shoves him forward. “This ought to help him snap out of it,” he says.

Blair is forced to his knees. A hand grips his hair, pulls his head back.

“C'mon, I brought you a present, see? Cleaned him up for you, too. Have a look at him.”

When the man in the chair doesn't respond, Blair is bent forward, shoving his exposed neck under the sleeping man’s nose. Blair lets out a stifled groan, muffled by the tape over his mouth.

“C’mon Jim, just one little sniff. Doesn’t he smell good?”

Blair feels the light breeze as the other man exhales faintly. A soft sound of inquiry. The nose in his neck snuffles, burrows deeper. Blair grunts faintly and ignores the wrench of his neck as he's held firmly in place.

“Yes, that’s right, Soldier, that’s it. Sweet, like sugar, hmm?"

Jim sniffs and nuzzles. Teeth nudge against his flesh and Blair squeaks.

His captor laughs. "Now, Jim, gentle, gentle. You don’t want to break your new toy, do you? You’ll have to excuse him,” he adds, apparently to Blair. “He wakes up a bit savage."

Jim growls under his breath. His hands comes up to grip his Blair’s hair, pulling him in closer.

“That’s it. _Guide_. Feels so good, doesn’t he?”

Blair gurgles. Guide? _What the Hell does that mean?_

"He needs you, Jim; bad people hurt him, and he's cold and sick. Wake up.”

Jim is cupping Blair’s face in his hand, turning it to sniff behind his ears. Delicately lifting his uncooperative limbs out of the way, he hoists Blair into his lap. Blair just lies where he's placed. He’s exhausted, dizzy and sick; there’s no fight left in him.

“Excellent, things seem to be progressing well,” says the voice of his captor. “We’ll just leave the two of you to get to know each other, hmm? And Jim - the cameras are on, so don't get _too_ rough with him."

Blair whines from his position with his face pressed to one of Jim's meaty pecs. The door slams behind them when they leave.

For a long time after the footsteps recede into the distance, Blair doesn’t move. Jim, as the giant is apparently named, is still happily snuffling at his hair, which is … weird. But after days of being frozen and starved Blair doesn't care anymore.

Big hands skim over his skin, lingering every sore place sore, as if they can feel the bruises just from the heat. Long comforting strokes over his back, from the nape of his neck right down over his buttocks. It doesn’t feel sexual; Blair feels vaguely like an infant. The feeling is magnified when Jim tucks Blair’s head under his chin, rumbling in his chest and rocking him slightly.

Blair tries to make a sound, barely intelligible through the tape over his mouth. Jim stands up without a word, hoisting Blair in his arms, and carries him over to a little cot in the corner of the room. He gently lays him down, cupping his head in one hand and fanning his hair over the pillow. Then he guides his chin up to carefully peel the tape away from his mouth, so slowly that it barely tugs Blair’s skin.

"Mmph," Blair manages. Jim coaxes his mouth open, wide enough to fish out the sodden cloth that tortured Blair for so many hours.

Blair finds that he still can’t make his lips and tongue work properly. Jim doesn’t speak either – just lifts his head enough to fit the ring of a plastic bottle to his lips. Blair stops trying to talk and focuses instead on the water flowing over his parched throat.

Jim is infinitely patient, feeding Blair tiny sips, never letting him take too much at once. Any time Blair’s head drifts to the side, exhausted, Jim guides it back into position to coax more water into him. Blair knows he must be dehydrated and forces himself to try and drink as much as he can, although he barely has the strength to swallow after the first few sips.

Jim keeps at it until all the water is gone, then sets it aside.

“Who are you?” Blair asks. His voice is a wreck.

Jim strokes Blair’s dry lips with his thumb, tracing over the cracked skin as if he can feel every cell, and doesn't answer.

Blair rolls onto his side, trying to take the pressure off his bound wrists. “Not really a big talker, huh?” he croaks. That’s okay; Blair has been told he can talk enough for two. Right now, though, it feels okay to be small and quiet.

Jim produces a Swiss Army knife out of nowhere and uses it to cut the ropes. He holds Blair’s wrists when they’re free, chafing them in his big hands. He only returns them when they’re tingling and warm.

Blair feels himself settled back against the pillow. He’s fading fast, he realizes. The sheets are swaddled closely around him, and fingers stroke over his eyelids, easing them closed.

He drifts.

He feels someone thumb open his mouth, feeding him a pill and a cool sip of water. He swallows weakly and is rewarded with a pat and the blankets being tucked closer under his chin.

 

\---

 

He opens his eyes what felt like hours later. Jim is blanketing him, his body curled over and around Blair’s, chest pressed to Blair’s back, face in Blair’s neck. Blair feels – safe. For some reason, a wave of incredible _rightness_ rushes over him. He should be terrified, but instead he feels only a click of recognition, like the tumblers of a lock falling into place.

Jim will take care of him now, he realizes, with a profound rush of relief. Blair doesn't question it – he just hooks his fingers into Jim’s shirt, holding on with whatever strength he still possesses.

“Shh,” says Jim, the first word Blair had heard him say.

Blair tries to roll over, but finds himself held in place by strong arms. Well, maybe he'll just stay here for now, he thinks, sinking back.

“You’re hurting,” says Jim, his sensitive fingers tracing over Blair’ back. “Here?”

How was it possible that he can locate the slightest twinge of pain, knows exactly how to press and release it?

"Feels good," Blair hums, closing his eyes. He wants to drift off again, but he needs to stay awake. “Do you know what they want with us?” he manages to ask.

Jim shifts, settling with his lips millimeters from Blair's ear, like he’s afraid of being overheard. “They think you’ll help turn me into their pet Sentinel. Good little soldier with bonus superpowers.”

Blair doesn’t ask what superpowers Jim means, but he thinks he’d believe anything at this point. He shivers, and Jim’s arms tighten protectively around him.

“What are we going to do?” he asks. He doesn’t know why he expects Jim to know, but he does.

“We’re going to escape,” says Jim, nuzzling into Blair’s hair. “Together.”

Somehow Blair has complete faith in that. “Good,” he says, snuggling back against Jim’s comforting bulk.

“Rest, for now,” says Jim. “I’ll keep watch.”

“M’glad I found you,” Blair slurs, in the last moments before he drifts off. He thinks he dreamed about a giant animal that slept curled around him, keeping him safe. He only just remembered, when Jim’s voice rumbled against his back. “But next time, let’s try a meet-up or something, okay?”

Jim's chuckle is the last thing he hears before sleep drags him under again.

 

**The End**


End file.
